


my thoughts are too much for me

by gaisang



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood, Gore, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8312383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaisang/pseuds/gaisang
Summary: Sometimes it hurts so much you have to let it out.





	

It’s pulling, stretching, straining, begging. Digging at every inch of his skin. His breath is hard, rough, and dry in his throat but not enough in and out for him to cough, the panic swelling and abating over and over again as the pain itches deeper and deeper into him.

Yet he sits. Back rigid and jaw clenched into an impatient smile as Cassandra chastises him once more on making Josephine upset. He tucks the green light under his leg and bites so hard into his cheek he tastes metal in his mouth, but still, he sits and pretends to listen, watching closely to her lips and her pacing, waiting and waiting (and _begging_ ) for her to be done so he can go scream. (And beat and howl and rip and tear and beg any merciful god to _make it **end**_.)

Finally she looks at him and sighs, shakes her head and waves him off, he stands and leaves, fists clenched so hard he swears the bones might splinter, but his steps are quick and his room is near and his magic strong and waiting.

It pushes him into silence. Silence so strong they can’t hear (or “ _worry_ ”) as he digs his teeth deep into the cross section of his hand and rips at the flesh to make the pain real, to make it visible, to give it a release. (His back so curled over it cracks and aches as his mouth tears threads of green flesh from his palm. (But it flickers and heals and stays and the blood is only around his mouth and whatever he spits out and he howls and violently drags it along the floor and begs  
     and begs  
          _and begs,_  
              _please._  
                    _ **Please**_!))

Cold fingers touch his neck and he jerks, so violently that his magic should have thrown them across the room, but they stay (and he releases), curling into Cole’s arms now instead of himself, and screaming into the flesh and bone that should not (could not) be real but is (and digging and tearing and healing over _and over **and over**_ ) and Cole listens.  
Listens.      ( _Listens._       ( _ **He listens**_.))

**He is always listening.**

**Author's Note:**

> flash fan-fic attempt


End file.
